


My Father's House

by always_teatime



Series: Where the Woodland Meets the Wild [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clover’s father is as extra as he is, Clover’s so called original concept art is actually his father, M/M, Qrow gets overwhelmed when Clover builds him up, fair game, fairgameweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_teatime/pseuds/always_teatime
Summary: Clover's father breaks Qrow out of jail and tells him Clover is still alive. Qrow has trouble believing it—until Clover returns and proves it to Qrow himself.Can be read as a standalone.Part of Fair Game Week 2020 - Free Day. Covers a few of the week's themes: semblances, family, and birds.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Where the Woodland Meets the Wild [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672831
Comments: 50
Kudos: 94





	1. A Simple Vow

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read on its own, but it uses the setup of Clover having an extra hereditary semblance that brings him back to life at the bottom of the nearest rainbow whenever he dies before his time.
> 
> Clover reunites with Qrow at the end of the second chapter.
> 
> There is some angst from Qrow not knowing Clover is still alive, and Qrow blaming himself. There are vague references to Clover dying, and it's mentioned that death involved an injury in his chest. There is no violence unless you count Clover's father throwing a horseshoe at a security drone.
> 
> The chapter titles and series title reference "To the Wild" by The Steel Wheels.

Clover hiked back to Atlas through the tundra. It would have been faster if he could fly, but he’d never learned. He’d had the chance, once upon a time, but he had refused it.

He’d focused on training his luck semblance instead. Dad helped him until there was nothing left to teach. Nothing more Clover was willing to learn, at any rate.

Maybe that had changed. Maybe he was changing. The fables said love could do that to a man. Clover carried a new source of strength inside his heart now that made him more able to bear every weight, and to make what he carried his own.

He thought of Qrow. Courageous Qrow. So strong and so beautiful. Clover treasured his chance to witness the way he stood taller each day, and the smiles he seemed to rediscovering. He yearned to weave into Qrow’s very soul, to be with him now and into the future, and to know his past and to breathe it so deep it would be like he’d been with Qrow through that long lonely walk, too.

Qrow deserved Clover’s trust. Clover hoped he could be brave enough to give it whole and completely. He only hesitated to heap more burdens, more secrets, on the man he felt he’d been waiting his whole life for—on the man who seemed at once always ready to either break and collapse into himself, or spread wings of his own and soar to the heavens. Could he trust Qrow would let Clover go with him? Would Qrow accept Clover’s whole self and world as a gift, when he still barely accepted compliments?

Clover had thought they had time, that was all. But time was not always a blessing. He vowed to trust Qrow, to never make him wait again. He would offer everything. He would do it in the same way he kept his hand in Qrow’s easy reach when they played cards, and in the way he presented his body and everything he could do, all to feed and invite whatever Qrow was willing to come together with Clover and make of them.

All the time in the world might not end up being enough to allow Clover to express the depth of his desire and regard. But for a start, as a first step, Clover wanted to give him everything.

Trust and secrets. Body and soul. Love and family.

###

Qrow sank into memories in the jail cell. He didn’t keep track of the time. He didn’t know how many days passed before an off-key whistling drew his eyes to his cell door.

A grizzled soldier with an angular face stood there. He was oddly familiar. He looked like a very fit sixty-five, and his eyes were brown, but he wore his gray hair the same way as… as… no, it couldn’t be. Even the uniform’s cut was the same: no sleeves, a holstered fishing pole, lucky charms, and a plain steel clover pin. Except for the eyes, this man looked exactly like Clover would have if Clover had lived another thirty years.

Qrow coughed and forced himself to speak. “Who… Who are you?”

“Glad you asked, Mr. Branwen,” the soldier said. He flashed a quick, crooked smile. “I’m Staff Sergeant Felix Ebi. I heard a lot about you from my son.”

###

Clover remembered the way his father would stretch in the morning light. The dark hair like a crest. The arms crossed like wings about to snap back. The twin transitional scars on his chest that, instead of tattooing over, Dad had framed with blue and orange inked feathers to accent.

They would practice gymnastics in the dark hours before breakfast. Then, in the bitter cold, they’d go for a run. One day, Dad led Clover to the edge of the city, farther out than they ever ran before. He halted there, and Clover stopped beside him, panting. He was barely tall enough to see Mantle over the dizzying island edge, which was marked off by a thin border railing that creaked in the howling north wind.

“Dad?” said Clover, when he had caught his breath. He rubbed his arms and shuffled closer to his father, who stood with his worn tactical boots kissing the cliff. “What are you looking at?”

Without glancing down, Dad flashed a grin. He held two fingers up for silence.

Clover became aware of a low whistling sound. Then, irregular wingbeats. He grabbed Dad’s sleeve. “Dad, I think it’s the Grimm.”

“Think so, sprout? Are you scared?”

He clutched Dad’s sleeve tighter. “I’m not scared of anything!”

“Well, that’s not good.” Dad finally looked down at him. “Being scared is like your sight and hearing. If you don’t feel it, then we’ve got a problem.”

Silence opened up the air for a moment like a vacuum. Then a small shape shot up in front of them and whizzed in a loop, like a feathered fighting jet. The shape glided in for a landing back toward Clover and Dad, then perched on the rail in front of them: a kingfisher with tiny golden antlers.

Dad held out his hand, and the kingfisher hopped on. The bird swiveled a crested head toward Clover, chirped, and blinked beady, bottomless eyes.

Clover said, “Dad, what is that?”

“Another secret, sprout.” Dad tilted his head in that wily way he had, eyes flicking between the Atlesian streetlights that were starting to flicker off in the dawn. “A secret we have to be more careful about, with the city putting surveillance cameras in. Let’s take our little friend and get back to the house.”

“So there aren’t any Grimm?”

The kingfisher chuffed. Clover’s father snorted. “Don’t sound so disappointed about that.”

Clover accepted the kingfisher carefully from Dad. The bird fluffed up and climbed to his shoulder, taking up a position there like a sentry, clinging with an odd strength in such delicate claws.

###

“So you’re, uh,” Qrow glanced nervously around them, “Clover’s dad, huh?”

Staff Sergeant Felix Ebi led the way down the long corridor. He was whistling again, and he twirled a horseshoe as he walked. The resemblance to Clover was equal parts heartbreaking, comforting, and uncanny as hell. He’d casually flicked the lock on Qrow’s cell door, then the handcuffs, and walked Qrow out and free like it was nothing. They didn’t meet anybody, and they didn’t seem to be avoiding cameras.

“Listen,” Qrow started, “I’m really sorry. What happened was all my fault. But for what it’s worth, Clover, your son—”

“Is a damn slowpoke about getting back to it,” said Felix. He grinned, then hurled his horseshoe overhand in front of him.

“Uh,” said Qrow. His eyes tracked the horseshoe as he tried to figure out what to say. Had nobody told Mr. Ebi what happened yet?

The horseshoe sailed unobstructed for almost a hundred yards until a security drone popped around a blind corner and took it directly in the helicopter blades. The horseshoe bounced free and settled against the floor with a clink. The drone stuttered and dropped, camera side down, onto the ground.

Qrow, to his surprise, after everything, found he had the capacity to feel impressed. “That’s some luck.” He coughed. “Clover, I mean, he was always—”

“Showing off?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Did he do the backflip?”

“How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

Qrow let his hand drift up to Clover’s pin, where he wore it over his heart. There were so many things to say, but he’d break if he thought too long about any one of them.

He’d pretty well cried and screamed himself out since he got arrested, the pain coming fresh after every nightmare in the night, nothing but Clover in his dreams. He’d still slept as much as possible in order to be there, seeing him. Now… His chest felt hollowed out. Raw and frayed. It radiated and pulsed behind his sternum, a grief like the injury that took Clover away.

He had to at least try to say it. Do something right for once in his unlucky life. “Uh, Mr. Ebi, listen. I know I didn’t know your son for very long, but—”

“It’s all right, Qrow. You don’t have to explain.” The way Felix flapped his hand and threw Qrow a look, however, gave Qrow the impression Felix approved of him trying. “I don’t know all the details, but when Clover told me he met someone, I knew he was serious. It wouldn’t surprise me if things moved fast. We can talk about it more once we’re out of here.”

Qrow nodded slowly. He wasn’t convinced he and Felix were on the same page about Clover’s death, or their relationship, but maybe this wasn’t the time to tell him. Qrow knew anyone in Felix’s position would turn on him after hearing the truth.

He wondered what Clover had said about him. Did Mr. Ebi think they had been… what? How could Qrow describe what he and Clover had been? So much wanting. So much fear. All of it churning when Qrow thought about him. All of it transforming to comfort and warmth when they were together. Clover’s immediate presence and attention was like coming home. Imaginings in idle moments and in the night were all pale and not enough and _nothing_ compared to one word shared, one meeting of their eyes.

Qrow was no fool. He knew what it meant when a man looked at him like that. But he was starting to think he didn’t know all of it. More than a taste, more than a piece, Clover made it clear he wanted all of Qrow, and to keep him, and for Qrow to never let him go.

He could still taste the coffee they shared. And he still remembered how Clover would often bend his head in close to talk so they didn’t have to shout over the airship. Their faces were so close together then that they were sharing breaths, and Qrow knew on at least one visceral, lingering occasion, he’d turned his head at just the right moment by accident, and brushed his lips across Clover’s whiskers.

The oddest thing about that moment was that Qrow hadn’t felt flustered. And Clover’s only reaction had been a crinkling around his eyes and a warmer smile. They kept talking. They kept chuckling and breathing on each others’ lips. That was all they did, and it was one of the most intimate sensations Qrow had ever experienced.

It was bad luck. It was good luck. It was easy and perfect, and it was completely right. It was always right when they were together. Qrow had never let himself go slow like that. Not rushing the milestones. But with Clover, he really liked it.

Qrow had intended to let Jimmy keep him locked away for Clover’s death forever, but now he had the chance to get to know Clover’s family. He knew Felix wouldn’t forgive him or take him in, but maybe if they talked it out in a peaceful setting, he might let Qrow do something. Qrow would do anything to ease Clover’s family’s closure and grief. He felt he had to, and he wanted to. It was like a slim crack in a door nearly closed through which he could still hold on to Clover and feel close to him.

Felix kicked the horseshoe as they reached it. It ricocheted up off the wall, and Felix caught it with his left hand. He went back to twirling it, whistling a keyless pattern in the sterile gloom.

Qrow hadn’t realized how long he zoned out for. “Aren’t you,” he started, “uh, won’t you get fired for this?”

“You let me worry about that.” Felix stopped. The horseshoe snapped still in his closed hand. He knocked once against a security door, which turned green and cracked open obediently to reveal another corridor. “Almost there.”

A few more turns, and they reached a hangar. It was gigantic, but mostly empty. Qrow paused instinctively in the last pocket of shadow before that brightly lit open space, while Felix strolled confidently ahead toward a rack of blackout helmets. He tossed one of these to Qrow before tucking another under his arm and continuing toward a small transport ship parked ahead of them.

The transport was being loaded from the back by what looked like half-trained cadets. Qrow quickly jammed the helmet on his head. It was the first time Qrow had seen anyone on their long walk through the base. By instinct, Qrow moved silently, but Felix struck his boots smartly against the resonant corrugated steel floor and demanded attention.

The cadets pivoted and saluted. One of them held out a key, pen, and clipboard, which Felix accepted and made a show of poring over sternly. Qrow hung back. He saw the way the cadets slowly started responding with tired smiles every time Felix paused, made a dry comment, and shot another sardonic look at them over the paperwork. Poor kids, thought Qrow, so young and already caught up in this war. At least Felix seemed to spare a thought for them. It made Qrow think about Ruby, Yang, and the rest of the kids, who—the guards at least did the kindness of telling him—had gotten away and must be lying low.

Finally, Felix nodded, made a note on the forms, and dismissed the youthful group.

They escaped in the supply transport at the speed of ordinary government business. Felix drove them out at a leisurely pace, past white lines painted to mark hundreds of docking spaces. He explained he made regular runs at the start and end of his day from the base down to Atlas proper, an arrangement through which he got to count his commute as part of his working day.

Nearly all the ships were gone. A few transports were being loaded up with crates and fuel cells by more cadets. Near the exit, a single massive bomber with a grid of symbols painted on its side had a panel pulled back to expose its wiring to the work of a careful Faunus engineer. Felix said most all the fighters were in the air flying against a megalith Grimm whale—Salem’s, Qrow realized.

Felix chatted with air traffic control as he drove their loaded transport out at last onto the liftoff pad. Again, no one took undue notice of them.

Qrow was starting to think that Clover’s family semblance was more powerful than he ever could have imagined. “Is your semblance really this strong?” said Qrow. “I know things are bad, but I thought we would have run into some resistance.”

“I’m a staff sergeant. You really know nothing about government, do you, son. I’ve been in charge of approving patrol schedules almost ten years now. I know where they’ll be.” He shrugged. “Also, we’re at war with the big whale Grimm at our border and running ragged. Nobody’s questioning it if I cut their shift and let them sleep.” He tapped the ship’s controls and took them into the air. “It looks like the Grimm’s plan is an extended siege. We’re all hands on deck and fighting for our home, but we’re not making a dent in the whale or its support. We halted its advance, but we’re not pushing it back. It keeps regenerating and launching new fighters. Morale’s tanking fast.”

Again, Qrow thought: Poor kids. “That’s probably making it stronger.” He’d been there himself before, trapped in a battle he couldn’t win, the monsters and fog around him growing stronger and more smothering as despair clawed at him and tried to drag him down.

“I bet.” Felix flipped back his visor and twisted his lip. “Speaking as a bureaucrat with forty years in service, I’m not thrilled about waiting for the military to handle this. If it gets too close, we might have to consider other options. Most of my family either fishes or fights sea monsters, and flying to get them might be worth a shot. But from what the analysts say, even if I left now, we don’t have enough time.” He hesitated.

Qrow perceived what he wanted to say. “And this is your home. You don’t want to leave when it’s under attack, even if you’re trying to save it.”

Felix nodded, throwing him a vaguely approving glance.

“Hm.” Qrow leaned his head back and thought. “I guess we’ll work with what we’ve got.” Could he use his expertise to help with the threat hanging over Mr. Ebi’s city? Could ease one worry of a grieving father’s mind in that way? “A giant whale. I remember when we used to think Nevermores were bigger versions of murks. It’d be bad if we assumed any fish out of water had the same weaknesses as a wallower. But I’m still tempted to try.” Intuition was often the key to taking down new beasts, but it was best to go in with five or six wild ideas, rather than get yourself hurt trying to force a single guess to work.

“Sometimes it gets the job done,” said Felix. For a moment, he seemed far away, his rusty brown eyes fixed on a point over the horizon, somewhere near the rest of the network of abandoned mines. “I avoid active combat when I can, but the year I was deployed… There were Ursas. Some larger than others. Some were apparently a different species, but they shared the same weaknesses.”

“Feature based targeting is a last resort kind of shot. I wouldn’t bet somebody else’s life on it.” The hunt talk was a welcome distraction. It was familiar. He had his feet firmly under him, here. “What could really help is if we get beyond the shape of the Grimm. A lot of hunters get hung up on appearances, but fable and myth influences are more reliable. That’s going to take some thinking.”

“You seem to know a lot about Grimm.” Felix pulled the control stick. They wheeled over the perimeter of the base, and the ground dropped. Atlas proper was substantially lower, and they banked so they came in at a wide angle, an almost scenic spiral that took them around monuments and skyscrapers. “What do you do for a living again?”

“I’m a Huntsman.” There was no denying it. And depending on what Mr. Ebi had heard…

“So you really are that Qrow Branwen.” Felix hummed. Even with his visor up, he was hard to read. “Clover said you were famous.”

“It’s not always for a good reason. My semblance is bad luck.”

“Can you control it?”

“Not really. My best bet is usually to stay away from people.”

“But not Clover?”

There it was. Qrow hung his head. He wouldn’t hide from this. “No,” he admitted. “Not him. I knew it was dangerous. I tried to tell him. But he didn’t seem to mind. Only person in my life who really didn’t. And that was… And he was so… No. I couldn’t stay away from him.” He waited for judgment.

Felix was silent for a moment. Then he grunted and worked a lever and pedal. They were almost at the ground. He steered the transport onto a landing pad on a square chrome rooftop and powered down the engines. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t condemn Qrow.

Later, then.

Qrow followed Felix’s lead getting out of the supply station and down the streets of Atlas. He kept the helmet on. No one looked at them twice. These were the perks of living in a militarized state: looking like a riot cop and trailing behind a soldier made you blend right in.

He remembered walking with another soldier. The one who was gone now. That one wanted to be Qrow’s partner, and Qrow wanted to let him. They had spent time off together like this, as the sun was getting low, and the lanterns were powering on. Then, too, Qrow lost track of the streets. Clover was supposedly showing him around, but for Qrow, Clover was the center of every sight.

It was Clover who lit every corner, with his ridiculous stunts and his open flirting, and the cheek he had in somehow blending it with his professional-soldier air. That was a side to Clover that, according to discreet words from more than one of the Ace-Ops, only jumped out around Qrow. Qrow found that knowledge incredibly, heatedly flattering. No one had ever gone out of their way to show their appreciation of Qrow’s presence and attention so clearly or loudly, or truly at all, before.

Clover let Qrow in where Qrow never thought he could belong. It was like Clover had a space for him inside his mighty heart that he’d been saving and tending all their lives, so that when Qrow finally arrived, Clover was ready to welcome him in.

Qrow knew what it was like to live with that kind of space in his heart. Qrow had given up on and neglected his. But lately, since that he’d found the man he’d like to let in to it, he was having to repair that space slowly, trying to make it livable. Clover seemed to have endless patience in the wait, happy to linger on the doorstep of his heart as he labored, praising him and teasing him, until Qrow began to think of inviting him in early anyway, unfinished and disorderly though his threadbare soul was, and seeing whether Clover really would be fine—whatever state Qrow was in—with taking him.

He missed Clover. That space was still meant for him.

“Are you cold, son?” asked Felix.

Qrow realized he’d drawn his cape around himself. He didn’t let it go. But he shook his head.

“Well, we’re almost home,” said Felix. “We’ll get you feeling better once we’re there. I promise.”

###


	2. Back to That Place Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clover’s father gives Qrow a place to rest in the house Clover grew up in. Qrow learns Clover is still alive, but he has trouble believing it—until Clover returns and proves it to Qrow himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reunion and a kiss by the end of this absolute unit. In case you were worried. I wouldn’t leave you hanging.
> 
> This chapter gets a little more suggestive, but there is no sexual content. There is some mild language.

It had been a night like any other. Another late dinner Clover shared with Qrow, lingering over decaf and the second plates they piled high in the cafeteria, barely snagging more chilled winter greens and fish filets before the staff cleared the buffet away. The lights were dimming, and the shattered moon shone across the floor length windows.

“Getting a little late,” said Qrow.

Clover grinned. It was true. They were starting to get ugly looks from the dishwashers. He tilted his head to show off the line of his neck, dialed up the corniness and the heat, and said, “You want to get out of here?”

Qrow scoffed and ducked his head. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

What Clover liked to call forward, Elm liked to call _throwing yourself at him._ Clover didn’t argue. He was too old to see any point being shy about what he wanted. And what he wanted right now was—yes, god damn, to have Qrow say _you know what, yes, I know you didn’t expect me to bite when you said that, but let’s really get out of here_ —but also to watch Qrow opening up and thinking about whether he’d like to say yes. Clover loved asking, he really did, and he loved that Qrow let him.

He nudged Qrow’s foot under the table. “I’m not ready to call it a day yet. If you’re up for it, I’d love to grab a room and work on our team tactics.”

Qrow peeked up through his messy hair and smirked. “Well, when you put it like that, soldier boy.”

Clover raised an eyebrow and smirked back, appreciatively. He hadn’t even been trying to make that one suggestive. It was just a lucky accident. Even luckier was Qrow flirting back. Qrow could wrap anyone around his finger if he chose to. He was clearly practiced at it. Clover loved it when Qrow let that out and got confident, and he loved how that was happening more often.

Qrow seemed familiar with attention, but something about Clover’s also seemed to be throwing him off his game. It was like… like Qrow knew how to do this, but only when it wasn’t serious. Maybe he was only used to doing it when he could charm someone quick, sweep them off their feet, and vanish before he got to be more than a dashing stranger to them. Before they got hurt by his semblance. He always throbbed with such visible pain on that subject.

Well, Clover was serious. Clover meant to keep showing Qrow he was interested in everything: in knowing him, in being close to him, in being known in return. As afraid as Clover was, in his own way, he wanted to get there.

Qrow did follow him when he turned toward the practice rooms, staying close at his elbow. They checked in, and Clover set a no-frills simulation: just targets and moving blocks, no attacks coming at them or hologram monsters. Qrow watched him make the inputs curiously. Clover didn’t explain. They’d been in a skirmish that morning, and something about Qrow being attacked… He just didn’t want to see that again today. He wanted to do this with no pressure or danger. No bruises, no pain. He wanted to move with Qrow and help Qrow line up perfectly, to synchronize completely and be one body with him—and they did. Clover pulled targets in, he threw a line to Qrow when recoil or a leap took him too far away, he caught Qrow’s forearm or hooked a hand around his waist to guide him where they needed to go. They finally finished everything, gasping, and Clover’s arm was around Qrow’s waist again, and he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Clover,” panted Qrow, against Clover’s neck. He was clinging, too, trying to catch his breath. They were both soaked with sweat.

“I’ve got to know.” Clover wasn’t sure what had come over him. But he felt so much. “Qrow, I’ve got to know. I’ve been asking you for a lot of things. Do you want me to keep asking?”

A moment passed. A cavernous moment. Clover swore he was falling into it.

“Yeah,” said Qrow. “I can’t answer yet. But I want you to ask.”

Clover smiled. He drew in a deep breath, and then he let it out. He rested a hand on Qrow’s shoulder and rubbed his thumb in circles against his collarbone, as Qrow looked at him in a kind of wonder. Finally, when he could bear to, Clover drew back.

They walked out of there, parting reluctantly at Qrow’s door. Qrow hesitated and glanced back as he closed the door behind him, and Clover wondered what Qrow saw in these moments when Clover lingered outside, treasuring every last glimpse of him.

There was so _much_ in Qrow’s slender frame. A power and a swiftness. A sweetness and a grit. He was quiet and brash, independent and loyal, his own man on his own firmly laid path and yet somehow adrift, and all Clover wanted was to be his counterweight and be something in this world together.

Clover had always known he’d find the man he really fit with. He’d rather wait than settle for less. There had been some men he wondered about, plenty he liked all right—but Clover didn’t settle for all right, not in love or in anything. Qrow was simply the one. That was it.

Well, when you know, you know. Clover distinctly knew with Qrow in a way he hadn’t with anyone else in all his thirty-nine years. He was the man Clover had been falling toward his whole life as certainly as gravity.

Despite everything he hadn’t found ways to say yet, Clover felt a certain residual comfort as he left Qrow’s door, went back to his own bunk, and sank into one of the most restful nights so far in his life.

###

The Ebi home was in a good neighborhood. Something about that surprised Qrow. They were up in Atlas, whereas Qrow always assumed Clover grew up in Mantle. He’d envisioned something of a rags to riches story, with Clover starting as an outsider like himself. Now he realized that might not be true. Clover inherited a semblance of good fortune from his father, who appeared to be a master at it. If their work didn’t pay enough, all they’d have to do is walk into a casino and be set on lien for life.

For all that, the house wasn’t opulent. Mostly, Qrow noticed family pictures—it hurt to try to look at them—and a comfortable gathering space. There were no liquor racks, although there was a space in the living room where one might once have been.

As soon as they got in, Felix leaned his fishing pole against a scuffed section of the wall. Qrow reached for Har—

He stopped.

Don’t think about it.

Felix walked ahead into the kitchen without a glance back, as easily as if Qrow had grown up here with him, as if they’d just gotten back from a walk. He filled up a kettle and two pots at the faucet, set them on the stove, and lit the dust element. He pulled onions and rice out of a larder, then peppers, shrimp, and celery from an icebox.

Qrow hovered awkwardly at the counter. “Can I help?”

“Sure. Pass me that jar.”

Qrow spotted the one he meant. It looked like a spice mix: simple, salt and pepper. Nothing that got hurt by sitting in sunlight. He held it out, but his fingers fumbled.

It shattered in a mess of glass and powder against the ground.

Qrow gritted his teeth and ducked his head, tears pricking at his eyes. “Sorry.” He shouldn’t have tried.

“It’s all right, son. Come on. It’s just a jar.”

Qrow dared to look at Felix kneeling by the glass.

He was holding out a dustpan. “That said, you’re helping me clean it up.”

Qrow held the pan steady while Felix swept. They threw the mess away, and Felix asked Qrow to hand him another jar. Qrow picked it up, agonizingly slow, and passed it to Felix with both his trembling hands. It didn’t slip. Qrow breathed a sigh of relief.

They worked together chopping the vegetables. Bad luck or not, Qrow was comfortable enough with blades. Felix took charge of the onions immediately and didn’t seem bothered by the fumes. They made a spicy gumbo that they poured over the rice. It was the best Qrow had eaten in days, maybe weeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a home cooked meal. Restaurants were one thing. He’d had plenty of those. But home. A home was different.

It turned out the kettle was for chamomile and mint tea. Qrow drank the cup Felix poured for him, and he felt it slowly steadying him. It wasn’t long before he could barely keep his eyes open. Everything about being in this house was quiet and comforting. It settled like a blanket over his pain.

“Why don’t you head to bed, son,” said Felix. “I’ll show you Clover’s room. I still keep it for when he’s here. It should do fine.”

Clover’s room. Qrow’s eyes felt hot. He didn’t know if he could handle it. “You… you sure I can?”

“Is that a serious question?” Felix half growled at him. It seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind whether to give Qrow a hard time or to be gentle.

Qrow dropped his eyes to his empty cup. “Okay.” He pushed out of his chair and carefully took the cup to the kitchen. He washed it out and dried it, then set it next to the sink. He didn’t know where the teacups went. He wondered if he’d have the chance to learn.

Felix was leaning against the counter, watching him with his tongue tucked in his cheek. Qrow got the impression that he’d just obliviously passed another unspoken test. His suspicions were confirmed when Felix said: “Son, I’ve been waiting thirty-nine years for Clover to bring somebody home so I can scare the living shit out of them. But you’re making it awful difficult.”

“Sorry,” said Qrow. Wait a minute. “Thanks?”

“You’re doing it again.” Felix sniffed. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed. You look dead on your feet.”

Clover’s room was upstairs. It had a big bed and a wide window, and more bookshelves than Qrow was expecting. There were two little doors, and a dresser. There were pictures, plaques, and a map of the world with photos of Clover holding fish tacked to it. There was even one of him shrugging good-naturedly with empty hands and no water in sight. It seemed Clover liked to travel when he could, and to compete in fishing tournaments, although most were clustered around Atlas. There were many pins in spots without pictures, differently colored ones. With a pang, Qrow guessed those must be where Clover one day wanted to go, but hadn’t had the chance.

“Bathroom’s there, closet’s there,” said Felix. “Fire ladder’s under the bed, on account of he can’t fly. Make yourself at home. I’m working early tomorrow. Going to sort your status out. It’s going to be fun. Short term renewable wanted lists are such self-licking lollipops. Anyway, leftovers are in the fridge. Try to stay in the house. No wild parties. Standard fugitive rules, you know. Good night.” He left then, pulling the door closed.

And Qrow was alone again.

He felt awake, suddenly. He was afraid to touch anything in the room, but also voraciously curious. And ashamed. But there would be no sleeping like this, so he went for the books.

A whole shelf held comics that had been popular around the time Qrow went to Beacon, when both he and Clover would have been teenagers. Clover had some of Qrow’s old favorites. Sadness and fondness crept over Qrow together. It hadn’t occurred to him they had something so small and simple in their past in common. He should have asked while he had the chance.

The rest of the books were leather bound and gold embossed, and there was a large section on fairy tales. Qrow sat down on the floor reading them for a while. Clover had, in particular, many well loved volumes dedicated to fated and unstoppable romance. The most weathered seemed to be those where the hero had one great love, a love he waited his whole life for, the kind that comes once in a lifetime and that if he lost it, he’d never find again.

There was duty and patience. There was achievement and leadership. But always, always, there was love.

And there was Clover, once, reading.

What was it Mr. Ebi said? He’d been waiting for Clover to bring someone home. Qrow couldn’t believe Clover never dated, never looked around, but if Qrow was really the first Clover actually took the step of telling his father about—

Gods. Of course Clover would be the type to wait patiently for his one great love, and to be good enough of a man to think Qrow, of all people, could be that for him.

The center of Qrow’s chest was throbbing again, his throat closing up. He retreated from the books and sat down on the bed. It had a silver comforter trimmed with green, and deep red sheets underneath. The sheets felt new. Qrow’s vision blurred. He worked off his boots without looking. He slipped off his vest and set it on the dresser, transferring Clover’s pin to his button-up shirt first so it’d still be right with him, so he could feel it, then collapsed and curled up, closing his eyes. The sun had gone down a while ago, although it did that early, here. Qrow wasn’t sure what time it was—but then, he couldn’t remember the last time he cared.

He missed Clover.

The thought reared up from that place in his chest, and it was like it just happened. Qrow lost his place in time and shrank from that nightmare in the bone-chilling snow.

He didn’t fall asleep until after the sun came up, and he didn’t get out of bed until late afternoon.

###

The snow beneath Clover’s boots was slightly blue, and pleasantly crunchy. Although Atlas wasn’t far as a bird could fly, on foot he had to cross rivers and fjords, woods and jagged ridges. He loved the gusting hills, but they rolled on and on, and the sweet, crisp, fresh wind of his beautiful country burned and exhausted his lungs and his eyes.

Clover’s walk back to Qrow would have been physically harder if he and Dad hadn’t built a lodge along the alpine ridge where a constant rainbow filtered through a cliff’s ice sheets onto that familiar grassy knoll. Dad was adamant the lodge was first for fishing. For times like this, however, it had changes of clothing and packs to supply them on a walk all the way back to Atlas if need be. There were communicators, too, but of course they didn’t have service as far as the city. He took a short range device so he could call a border security post for a ride when he got close enough to reach their signal towers. That ought to happen when he had a day’s walk left.

Clover stopped now and then for a packaged military meal. Some were better than others. Spicy fowl with a side of peanut butter and jelly was a joke everybody in the Atlas military had come to know, as was the bacon pickle cheeseburger which had been produced in a single batch that nobody noticed didn’t include bread until it was too late to fix or replace them. A built in dust element heated each meal smartly, and heated them so quick Clover had to either put on gloves or drop each package after he ripped the tag. After that, like everybody in the service started doing after enough familiarity camping with these, Clover forewent the included utensils and ate with his fingers. He wasn’t ever sure what the logic there was, but it was what you did if you didn’t want to look like a rookie, and by this point for him it was nostalgic.

He got that done as quickly as possible before he got moving again, and he caught a couple quick naps cocooned in an emergency blanket that folded up and looked like foil. He wanted to simply press hard all the way through, but he knew it wasn’t possible. He’d tried before and collapsed on the last stretch, eventually losing more time from it than he gained. So he paced himself and used the time to think. He had ground to cover even after he returned, and he needed a strategy.

Clover thought about how Qrow would be heartbroken. He’d likely feel betrayed. That was the hardest to think about. Clover could only choose to show him love and trust. He hoped he could still make Qrow happy. He hoped even after this, when Qrow knew everything, they could meet each other halfway on their worries of too much and not enough.

Qrow really looked like he could cry sometimes, like he couldn’t handle or accept it, like he didn’t even want to, when Clover said something nice to him. It was like numbness and neglect was the only way he’d been able to survive carrying such an extreme, debilitating lack of self worth, and when Clover tried to give him pride and pleasure that would nurture it, Qrow looked like he didn’t know how to deal with the shock of feeling anything there. And that self hatred of his, like the numbing agent. Clover hoped one day Qrow could hate himself less. He was so kind to everyone except himself.

Clover spent so much time telling Qrow he was worth it. That he was worth believing in. It was time he committed to that, and trusted Qrow could handle him.

Him, and the rest of his life. His baggage. His problems. And while Clover was dreaming: meeting his family.

His family.

When Dad found out what happened, he’d be disappointed like he always was when Clover used their extra gift—and if he heard Qrow didn’t know his loss wasn’t permanent, he’d be angry. Clover dreaded that conversation exactly as fervently as he wanted to get it over with. Dad had flown out before to meet Clover as he walked, long ago, and he’d lectured Clover all the way about how their blessing didn’t mean he should be careless with his life.

Dad had to know what happened by now. The fact he hadn’t flown out meant he was up to something. Clover hoped that something was good for Qrow, at least. Even if that meant more trouble for Clover, when he got home.

###

Mr. Ebi came home from work the next day as the sun was going down again. He went straight into the kitchen, chattering jovially about bureaucratic gridlock in acronyms that all went over Qrow’s head. They were all the way through dinner by the time he slowed down, falling into a silence that called back the haunting ache of Qrow’s horrible and neverending night.

It had nearly been dreamless, permeated with deep panic and dread that woke him up so many times he lost count, his heart aching and pounding. There had been only phantom images of Clover at the edges of Qrow’s dream-vision, mere traces that disappeared every time Qrow tried to turn and reach for them.

Qrow fidgeted. He needed to bring Clover’s death up. It wasn’t right to put off the conversation or to keep this to himself anymore. Mr. Ebi ought to know how bad Qrow’s mistakes were, so that then he could decide what Qrow deserved.

“Mr. Ebi,” Qrow started, “Look. I’ve got to tell you something. We’ve got to talk about this. Clover’s dead. We were on a mission, and we both made mistakes. But it was my fault in the end. And I walked away, and he didn’t.”

Felix nodded slowly. “You saw it happen, didn’t you?”

Qrow saw it again in front of him. He saw it nearly all the time in flashes he half embraced in a kind of self destructive need, and half tried to push away. He felt a sickness deep in his stomach. A paralysis crept over him.

“I can tell.” Felix’s voice brought him halfway out, between reality and remembering. Both were in front of him, all around him, bearing him in their riptide current. Would he ever stop reliving it? “It’s one thing to know we’ve got dangerous jobs. It’s another to have to see it. I’m really sorry about that, son. I can tell you’re having a hard time.”

“I know I don’t have the right. It was my fault. And you’re his father.”

“I don’t know if he told you this, but I didn’t want him to do this job,” said Felix. “It’s dangerous. It hurts you and your family. It’s not just what happens to your body, it’s what happens to your mind and your time. I’ve seen forty years now of what you can’t, from the outside. He only wanted to see the best. It bit him hard not long after he got in, and he never let me help him. He didn’t want to rely on my name, you know, even when he got jerked around harder because of it.”

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t know.” Clover always seemed like the perfect military man, born to it and raised for it. Meeting Felix only reinforced that assumption for Qrow at first. But it hadn’t occurred to him Felix had this blunt, irreverent streak that somehow didn’t contradict his commitment to his service, or that he wanted a different life for his son.

“Seems like you blame yourself for a lot,” said Felix. “Well, this is the job I chose, and him after me. Sometimes they wear us down like a nub on paperwork, sometimes they throw us to the bears to check some executive’s box. I tried to tell him. He learned the hard way. He chose not to get out even after that. Some of us are just drawn to service. Anyway, we’re all ready for the cost.”

Qrow searched Felix’s face. Surely he had more to say. Surely this was just the beginning, and anger would jump out.

“Not that the people we care about are always ready. It doesn’t matter if they’re fighters, too. Clover ought to have known that. No matter if you know it’s not forever, seeing something like that still stays with you.” An edge of anger finally showed in Felix’s face, and he repeated, “He ought to have known better. I taught him better. He said you deserved as much family as he could give, and I agree with that.”

Qrow couldn’t take it. He turned his head away and wiped frantically at his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he managed, “Don’t blame him. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

Felix hesitated, then reached out and steadied Qrow with a fatherly arm. It was like what Qrow would do for his nieces, and unlike anything Qrow had been on the receiving end of before.

So of course that kindness opened the floodgates. “It’s my fault he died, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Well.” Short pats landed on his arm awkwardly. “If that’s the only problem. I’m sure he won’t hold it against you. He’ll tell you so when he gets back. Like I said, he never learned how to fly, so he’s a damn slowpoke every time.”

Qrow’s confusion slowed his breathing down enough for him to draw back. He stared at Clover’s father blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean I’ll have a talk with him about how he can’t keep you waiting like this. He can either learn to fly or work on his sprints. And it’s probably going to be the sprints.”

“But… Mr. Ebi. Clover’s dead. He’s not just hurt, or missing. He isn’t coming back.”

“That’s some nonsense.” Felix snorted. “What do you think he’ll do, have a midlife crisis after waking up? You think he’d run off anywhere without you?” Then he frowned back at Qrow in equal confusion and an odd, growing sternness. “That is. Unless. Son, what exactly did Clover tell you about his semblance?”

“It’s good fortune.” He remembered the mines. The way Clover caught him. The way he winked. The way he… everything. He made Qrow feel so warm. Qrow clung tight to his memory.

“And?”

“Uh. That’s it?”

“Well, shit,” said Felix. He’d turned pale. “I’m going to just lay this out direct. Clover is alive. He comes back to life every time he dies, at the bottom of the nearest rainbow. It’s a magic thing, long story. It’s happened before. It will probably happen again.”

“It can’t,” said Qrow. “Please don’t say that.” More heard himself say than said. He wasn’t sure how to process or believe what Felix said, but he did know this. He couldn’t think about Clover dying. Such a horrible, soul-ripping tragedy would end the world if it happened again. “I don’t understand.”

“He’s alive. You’ll see him soon.”

“How am I supposed to believe that? How can he be alive? How can you give me hope?”

“Do you think I’m that bad a liar?” growled Felix. He turned his head away, muttering to himself. “Stupid on the nose goddamn rainbows, can you get any more camp than that. And the goddamn leprechaun shit reference, dandelions pot of gold my ass. No wonder nobody believes it.”

Distantly, with a roaring in his ears, Qrow thought: Wow. There was no way Clover would approve of his dad swearing like that.

“There’s proof,” said Felix. “Documents. Witnesses. I can explain everything. But ultimately, you’ve got to see him. He’ll come back. That’ll prove it well enough.”

“Mr. Ebi, I just can’t—”

“There’s magic in this world.”

“Okay, maybe, but—”

Felix turned into a bird. A male kingfisher, specifically. He was old, with faded plumage, and grizzled. He definitely had an attitude.

Qrow stared.

The bird turned back into Felix, who raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms across his chest. “Magic,” he said, as though that solved everything. “I told you I had proof.”

Qrow tried to come up with a response for a long time. Finally, he thought: screw it. So he also turned into a bird. A crow, specifically. The same way he always did. The way most people couldn’t.

Felix stared at him.

Qrow released a helpless squawk. It was so much easier to express what he was feeling at this moment as an aggrieved and awkward caw. He hid his face under his wing.

“Well, shit,” said Felix. “I can’t believe Clover’s the only one in this family who can’t turn into a bird yet.”

In this family… Qrow fluffed up as he shook off that thought. It made him feel too important. It was too good to start believing in and lose. It was also hard to process on top of the bird thing. And the… other thing. He returned to human shape. He smoothed his hair down, then brushed a feather off his vest. He had no idea how he felt about what just happened. “Well,” he tried, “Uh. So. Now that we’ve done that.”

“Uh-huh,” said Felix. “We can swap bird stories later. It seems like the issue is bigger than whether you believe in magic.”

“I don’t see how Clover can be alive. I can’t believe it. I saw him. I mean. I saw him when he. When he.” He couldn’t.

“Maybe just take it slow for now,” said Felix.

Qrow realized he was swaying. Or the room was swaying. He leaned hard on the table.

And the table’s leg broke.

Qrow barely jolted back in time to save himself from going down hard, like he had so many other times when his semblance flared on him. He looked down at the nice tabletop, now listing toward its unsupported corner, and the engraved leg which had split beneath it and was rolling in halves across the floor. He said, “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s just a table, son.”

“This happens a lot. I’ll fix it.”

“How about we do that in the morning?”

“Clover,” murmured Qrow. This was just all too much.

Felix frowned and glanced at the front door for some reason. Then he looked back at Qrow. “So do you believe me?”

“I don’t know. I want to. And it scares me. If I start thinking he’ll come back, but then I’m wrong, I’ll lose everything all over again. I don’t think I can come back from that.”

“Okay,” said Felix. “Well, why don’t you go to sleep. The time will go by quicker, and you won’t have to worry while you wait.”

“Where is he?” Qrow pressed his toes experimentally against the floor. His knees felt shaky. “I mean. If he’s. If he’s really. Like you said.”

Felix eyed him suspiciously. “You’re in no shape to fly.”

“I’ve done it through worse.” But Qrow was starting to suspect he couldn’t even stand. These last few days, and these shocks, they took everything out of him.

“I’ll make you a deal, son. Get some sleep, and if he’s not here in the morning, you and I will go look. We probably couldn’t spot him in the dark anyway.”

That was reasonable. Qrow felt so tired, and he was having trouble thinking of any argument. It was strangely relieving to have a plan, and for sleep to be the first step in it. His eyes wanted to stay closed every time he blinked. “But,” he tried. “If you’re right,” and oh, how it hurt, and it was so confusing, “what if we’re not here, and…” He thought of Clover coming back into an empty home, thinking no one wanted to wait for him. Qrow had lived so much of his life like that, nothing to greet him at the end of the day, not even an open door to an empty room. Even when he was close to Patch, he was often in no shape—Tai didn’t want his nieces to see him like that, the way he used to be. The way he still feared he might be on some bad day again.

Just a spot on the ground. Wet leaves in the dirt. People tripping as they passed him by, all cursing their bad luck.

“We can write a note to him in the morning,” said Felix. “You can help. For now, we should get you upstairs. Do you want to tell me about the time he did the backflip? I taught him everything, you know.”

Qrow wasn’t sure what he said back, or if he even said anything. But Felix helped him get out of the chair and away from the precarious table. He was pretty sure he was trying to talk on his way up the stairs. But when he fell onto Clover’s bed, he gave up on it, and he didn’t try to think of anything.

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was a fatherly silhouette dimming the hallway light, hesitating, and then drawing away.

###

Qrow drifted up from complete blackness he didn’t remember falling into. He felt strangely calm and comforted. There was a warmth beside him, a weight leaning against the bed. And a familiar scent…

Qrow smiled, curled toward Clover, and let himself inhale. He opened his eyes and reached out to the man he’d lost, wrapping an arm around that broad chest.

He’d had this dream before. It was a rare good one. Normally Clover was already on the bed, smiling happily at Qrow, waiting to take him in his arms. This time, Clover was sitting on the floor instead, with his back leaned against the mattress by Qrow’s head. He had his face turned to one side so that he could look at Qrow, and he had one arm resting on the comforter, over the lump of Qrow’s other hand. It was hard to see his expression.

Clover opened his mouth to speak, but sometimes when he did that in this dream, Qrow’s mind couldn’t put the right words in his mouth, and would instead give him his own negative thoughts, turning the dream into a nightmare. So Qrow leaned forward and grabbed Clover in a hold that snaked under both his broad, bare arms, and then hauled him up onto the bed.

Clover let out a surprised sound as Qrow pulled him up with one smooth and gigantic show of strength. He rolled willingly and let Qrow dump him on the other side of the bed. His beautiful green eyes stared as Qrow climbed on top of him, cradled his head, and drank in the sight of him. No matter how much Qrow wanted to close the distance, he couldn’t stand the thought of giving up this sight yet. He couldn’t bear to close his eyes or break eye contact, not even for a sweet or searing kiss.

“Qrow,” Clover started, and oh, that was his voice. It was so clear and so right. But it could change and twist at any moment, subject to Qrow’s traitorous sleeping mind. So Qrow touched his fingertips to Clover’s mouth, and Clover stilled.

“It’s okay, Clover. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Clover’s brows drew together, and he tried to speak again.

No, please, thought Qrow, don’t leave me again, don’t let it end. “Shhh, come on, don’t talk, Clover. I don’t want to wake up yet. I don’t want to go back to where you’re gone.” He moved his hand from Clover’s lips to his jaw, and leaned down to share his breath, waiting for Clover to take control and pull him down into a lingering kiss. That was how he wanted it. He wanted Clover to catch him again, and choose him, and give him his overwhelming idea of what Qrow deserved, good and strong and steady, forever.

But something was off. Something was different. Clover wasn’t pulling him down.

Oh, thought Qrow, so it is a bad dream. One of the ones where he doesn’t want me anymore. One of the ones where he’s come to his senses and seen I’m no good for him.

“Qrow,” whispered Clover. “This isn’t a dream. You’re awake right now. And I’m really here.”

“No, you’re not. You can’t be. You’re gone. I don’t get to keep you.”

“But you do.”

Yesterday, there was something. Something about hope. Qrow shook it off. He couldn’t think too hard. He couldn’t risk breaking the illusion. He wanted to stay here with Clover. “Please. Please, Clover, please. You have to stop talking. I don’t want to wake up.”

“Why does me talking wake you up?”

“Because you used to say things,” said Qrow, “nice things, to me. I can’t come up with them in my head, on my own. I can’t see myself the way you see me. I can’t dream you talking like you really did about me. You’re the only one who ever talked to me… who made me feel… like that.”

Clover nodded. It made their noses brush together. “So, if I complimented you like I’m supposed to, would that prove I’m real?”

Qrow nodded back, nuzzling him, miserably.

“Well, if that’s all I’ve got to do.” Clover tugged him on one side and pushed on the other. He flipped them, so gently. He took Qrow’s hands, pulled them to either side of his head on the pillow, and wove their fingers together. His knees and calves hugged Qrow’s legs. Like this, he was the whole world above, keeping Qrow sheltered in the home of his body. He leaned in and spoke against Qrow’s ear. “Qrow. I want you to know I dream about you, too.”

Qrow’s breath hitched.

“But you’re better than a dream.” He drew back barely enough so they could breathe together again, and he let go of one of Qrow’s hands so he could brush hair back from Qrow’s forehead. “I thought about you the whole way walking home, but my imagination can’t measure up to the real you, either. That’s how I know I made it, and I’m finally with you now.”

“I let you down,” Qrow pushed back, “I failed you.”

“I can fail, too. You know my luck doesn’t always protect me.”

“It was my fault.”

“It’s not your fault I didn’t lean on you enough. I didn’t want to put more weight on you, but I swear to you: I’ll trust you now.”

“I never thought you didn’t trust me, Clover. I thought you trusted me too much.”

Clover’s eyes glinted with determination. “I trust you because you’re real, and you don’t act like you’ve won all your battles. I guess you saw my books, but I don’t want a fairy tale. I don’t want a perfect prince, and I don’t want to have to be one, either. I hope that’s not a problem.”

Qrow realized Clover was waiting for a response from him. He coughed. “You know it’s not, Clover,” he said. “You know I want to keep you around, and if you were perfect, you wouldn’t want me.”

“But do you want me to be perfect for you?” Clover kept his face neutral, but Qrow saw it then: the idea made Clover genuinely afraid.

“Don’t you dare,” Qrow told him. “That sounds like an awful weight. That sounds like a life of always falling short. Of always failing. Of feeling like everything’s your fault. I don’t want you hurting under a life like I had. I’ll do anything to keep that off of you.”

Clover breathed out. His relief washed like a warm, gentle wave over Qrow’s face. When he spoke again, he was even softer, the way he had spoken into Qrow’s ear. “I love how you trip and fall,” he said, “and how you let me catch you if I can. I need a strong, sweet, good partner to catch me, too. And you’re the strongest, sweetest, best person I know.”

Qrow felt that like a lightning shock to his chest. No, he thought, no, I don’t deserve this. Clover couldn’t be here. Not really. He wasn’t. The moment Qrow let himself believe Clover was alive, he’d be snatched away again, and Qrow couldn’t bear the thought of that.

“How am I doing so far?” asked Clover. His brow creased. “You look like I’m hurting you.” His grip on Qrow loosened. He was about to draw back.

Filled suddenly with panic, Qrow seized Clover’s bicep, above his red sash. The wide, firm muscle. The smooth fabric. The rhythmic beat of Clover’s blood in his veins, with Qrow’s echoing in return. Qrow begged: “Don’t go.”

“Okay,” Clover said. He curled even closer into Qrow, a reassuring embrace. “Whatever you want, Qrow. I’ll stay. I want to stay with you. Can I keep talking?”

The idea was as terrifying as when they began. If this was a dream, the words would come out wrong. Yet the real Clover, with words coming out right, could undo Qrow more than anything.

Qrow could handle pain. He didn’t know if he could handle love.

He nodded anyway.

Clover smiled and gave Qrow’s hand what felt like a grateful squeeze. “You’re so brave,” he said, “and strong. Do you want to know what I think makes you so strong?” He combed his fingers back through Qrow’s hair, then dragged them forward to cradle the side of Qrow’s head, gently urging him to stop the way he’d started to withdraw and turn as Clover overwhelmed him. “You have to carry something you didn’t ask for and can’t control, something that keeps creeping out and reaching back into your life no matter how you try to push it away. You’re one of the greatest hunters in the world anyway, and I think how you keep fighting is so inspiring. I wish I could do half as well as you with the parts of my life I can’t control. I want to be there every step of the way to the day you see that your life doesn’t have to always be about pain.”

Qrow started to shake his head, but Clover’s hand was against his cheek again, and he didn’t want it to go away. Even though Qrow was no good for him, even though he knew he should stay away to protect him, he wanted so much to keep Clover, and he couldn’t push him away.

“Do you want to know what I think makes you so sweet? You’ve got your own life and your own people, and you’re so protective of them. You’re so good for everyone who gets to be around you.”

“But I’m cursed.”

“You’re not.” Clover frowned. “You know what a real curse is? People who don’t care. People who don’t listen. People who put their ego in front of what really matters. Anybody can have bad luck. I have to account for that every mission anyway. You’re the only partner I can think of who doesn’t give me other problems on top of it. Your skills and experience take away so many of my worries, take away so many unknowns, that I’m grateful all that’s left up to chance is, well, just that. You’re the sharpest Huntsman I’ve ever met, and you complement me better than anyone I’ve ever worked with, and I know you’ll always do everything you can for me. I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you.”

“Clover, please, I got you hurt. It was my fault. I shouldn’t be around you.”

“I’m not untouchable. I don’t even want to be. I don’t want to be someone the rules don’t apply to, even though I don’t always have a choice.” With a pained look, Clover wiped a tear from Qrow’s face. “See, I got you hurt, too. We get hurt. We make mistakes. It’s all right.”

“That’s different. You’re better. You don’t deserve to get hurt, but I do.”

“I don’t believe that. From where I’m standing, you’re good, and you deserve to see yourself like that, too. Do you want to know what I think makes you so good, Qrow?”

“I’m not, Clover, I’m not. You’ve got to listen. I’m no good, and I’m not good for you.”

“Now, that’s not true. You inspire me. You make me want to be so _much_ of myself. I enjoy myself more when you’re around, and I want to let you see that.”

Qrow thought of the way Clover lit up for him. He remembered the way witnessing that, and knowing Clover did it because of him, made him feel, that surprise of heat and a flattered glow welling up in his chest.

“I trust you to understand me. You care so much. You care about everyone. You never stop caring, no matter how much you’ve been hurt. You’ve had to get back up so many times, but you don’t give up on what you believe in. You show everyone it’s worth it to get up and recover, to put the pieces back together.”

Qrow didn’t feel very together. He felt like he would scatter if not for Clover over him.

“You’re a leader. You’re a protector. You’re the partner I’ve been waiting for. You’re the one, in every way, for me. I want you. I want to be with you. You can’t argue me out of wanting you. I want you like I never wanted anyone.”

“Clover,” Qrow groaned, and god, he’d never felt this wrecked on a bed, even though all Clover did was talk and look and nearly taste and steadfastly hold him.

Clover gave a strained chuckle and stroked his hair again. “I can do this all day, Qrow.”

Qrow swallowed hard. He managed: “I know you can.”

And it _was_ day.

There was a warm light falling across Clover’s face. The sun was rising over Atlas. The window was off to one side, and it was in Clover’s room.

They were in Clover’s room, in Clover’s father’s house, where Qrow had been led after the most peaceful of prison breaks.

No, this didn’t feel like sleep.

It couldn’t be a dream.

He was remembering. 

“Clover,” said Qrow, “I think I broke some things downstairs. It was my semblance. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I guess we get to fix them, then,” said Clover. With what looked like tears in his eyes, and a deliberate effort, he winked. “Lucky us.”

Nothing was how he expected it. Nothing was how he could imagine. Qrow had never been able to dream like this.

He knew now. He’d known in his bones all along. He could no longer deny it out of fear. This had to be the waking world.

This was Clover, back with him.

“I believe you,” Qrow whispered, “You’re real.” He looked up with wonder at the sun on Clover’s face, at the man he never thought he’d see again.

He’d known there was magic in the world. But it was harder to believe in hope.

Sometime in the course of this, Clover had eased down to lie fully flush with him. His body was a firm, warm weight, braced only at Clover’s elbows so he could look down at Qrow and feel him breathe, and let Qrow feel him in return.

He felt like everything Qrow ever wanted.

Qrow tilted his head up and pressed his lips against the stubbled corner of Clover’s mouth.

Clover sucked in a breath. His whole body clenched. Qrow could feel the effort in him, the effort not to immediately turn his head and meet Qrow’s lips. The cords of muscle in his neck strained. It was obvious how much he wanted it.

“Stay close to me,” whispered Qrow, against his skin, in their contact that was nearly a kiss. “I want your hands on me while I get dressed. I don’t want you out of my sight. I want you with me all morning, all day, and all night. You can’t let me forget you’re back.” He tilted his head another crucial degree. “I’m ready to get out of here with you, soldier boy. But first, I want you to kiss me.”

The stretch of skin that rubbed and burned as Clover groaned and turned his head was a familiar one to Qrow. He had found it by chance once. Now he had it by choice. And he had more, as Clover’s lips slid against his and treated him as though he was something precious. Clover did it long and slow, thorough and patient. Every time he paused, he came back in again, like he felt the way Qrow did, like he didn’t ever want it to end.

Qrow had never been here before, in this feeling, in a home of damaged fixable things and reality. He’d never before been invited to raise his head over and over again to meet someone he thought he lost who came back willingly to him. He hadn’t thought this was possible.

It was some time before they could bring themselves to sit up, still embracing and lingering, reluctant to part at any point of contact. Clover kept all of his promises, helping Qrow back into his vest, even sitting outside the bathroom and talking to him as he rushed through a morning routine. They opened the bedroom door to go down to breakfast together, in the home where Qrow had already gained an unexpected sense of family.

Clover held Qrow’s hand as they went, and Qrow hesitated on the steps, asking, “Are you sure it’s okay for me to still be here?”

“Of course,” Clover said. “You belong here. You’re not dreaming. I’m here with you, and that’s how I’ll stay.”

It was what Qrow always needed to hear.

“I wanted to show you this for a while now,” Clover went on, “and I guess you already got the tour, but do me a favor and pretend to be surprised. Here we go, officially.” He led Qrow down the stairs toward the kitchen, one hand clasped with his, the other curled around the bannister. “Welcome to where I grew up. This is my father’s house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your support and interest. Some suggestions from the comments on the first part of this series inspired how it has developed, so I would like to thank you for being so brilliant and thoughtful. Although clearly there is more going on around it, I wanted this installment to really be about Qrow reuniting with Clover and being brought into his family. Thank you for reading.


End file.
